


all the things I'd say but couldn't

by thenorthface



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Future Fic, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 14:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11038284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenorthface/pseuds/thenorthface
Summary: “Last time we called the memory demon--” Alec starts.Magnus theatrically rolls his eyes. “When we called Valak you were a miserable teenager, in love with your brother. You had something to hide. It isn’t going to be like that this time.”When Magnus had changed, he’d pulled on tight pants and an ornate emerald green jacket, open to his sternum to show off the necklaces he has layered on. His makeup is perfect now, smudges of kohl transformed into dark black lines. He looks every bit the High Warlock again, no longer like some late night fantasy created solely to torment Alec.Alec forces a brittle smile. “Sure,” he says.





	all the things I'd say but couldn't

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ukiyo91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukiyo91/gifts).



> A few things:  
> 1\. Happy happy birthday, ukiyo91 (almost wrote your name like five times)!!! I miss our adventures when we lived in the same city and can't wait to start texting you like crazy when Shadowhunters comes back  
> 2\. Title from Brett Young's 'In Case You Didn't Know'  
> 3\. This fic has a level of violence and darkness that I'd say is very comparable to the show. There are multiple references to offscreen deaths of children. If that makes you uncomfortable, even if not directly shown, I'd say skip this fic

 

“ _Alec_ ,” someone says, loudly and pointedly, like it’s not the first time they’ve tried to get his attention. The raised voice makes his lingering headache spike and he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to stave it off.

 

Alec tears his gaze away from the report he’s been reviewing for the last hour. Although he’s read it three times now, nothing about it makes sense. For weeks, Downworlder children have been disappearing across New York seemingly at random, at different times of day and in different parts of the city. Each time there’s been no evidence left behind, no apparent motive, no trace of the attackers. Ten children have vanished as if they’d never existed in the first place. The faces of their devastated parents have been haunting him every time he starts to slow in his work.

 

“Al-lec,” Isabelle repeats, smacking her hand on his desk for good measure. The force of the gesture rattles his monitor, making the blue light momentarily flicker.

 

Looking up at her, he feels the corners of his mouth turn up. It might be the first time he’s smiled all day.

 

“Izzy,” Alec says, pleased to see her, although he’s not sure he can afford the distraction. “You look _nice_ ,” he adds, giving the compliment an emphasis as he studies her outfit. She’s in a skin-tight red halter dress that’s not only four inches shorter than Alec would prefer on his baby sister, however much he may be used to it, but also features a plunging neckline that flaunts her cleavage. “You have plans tonight?”

 

Isabelle smiles brightly at him, lips a darker shade of red than her dress. _Like blood,_ Alec thinks unbidden, remembering the reports this morning of a rogue werewolf attack near Riverside Park-- people’s bodies torn to shreds, splatters coating the walls of the alley the mundane had found them in.

 

“Yes,” she says, leaning across the desk and into his space, oblivious of the dark turn his thoughts had taken. “Dinner. Drinks. Dancing. With _you.”_

 

“Absolutely not,” Alec says immediately.

 

She huffs at him. “You didn’t even think about it!”

 

“I’m busy,” Alec says.

 

“You’re overworking yourself,” Isabelle tells him. “I’ve barely seen you in weeks.”

 

Alec looks pointedly at the growing number of notifications in his inbox. “There’s a lot going on.”

 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t take a break,” Isabelle argues. “Come spend time with your favorite sister. You’re too tense. I’ll find someone to help you _release_ some of that tension.”

 

Alec decides that doesn’t merit a response. It’s not the kind of thing they’d ever talk about, however much Isabelle might want to, but at this point Alec has mostly accepted he’s never going to have that particular outlet for his stress. He gets the pleasant ache of muscles that follows a hard fight in training. He gets the wild rush of adrenaline a well-earned demon kill brings. When he’s particularly lonely, there’s always his right hand. There have only been two people in his life he ever wanted the sort of thing Izzy’s talking about with, and he pushed away the only one he could’ve had a long time ago.

 

“No,” Alec says, grimacing. “I can’t.”

 

“You _can,”_ Isabelle tells him. Her eyes are big and bright, still hopeful, and thus almost impossible to say no to. Luckily, he has years of practice resisting her charms.

 

“Leave it Izzy,” Alec says.

 

Isabelle sighs dramatically. “Fine,” she says. “But you’re having dinner with me soon. No excuses. I worry about you, always holed up alone in this depressing office.”

 

By light of day, the office looks beautiful, sunlight streaming in through the stained glass windows, bathing the burgundy wallpaper and wooden paneling in a warm glow. Once night comes, though, ‘depressing’ quickly becomes an accurate word for the atmosphere of the room. There’s never enough light, however many lamps Alec turns on, and all the wood starts to feel suffocating the closer to midnight it gets. It has a dampening effect, smothering the noise from the outside world.

 

“Uh,” Alec says. He glances guiltily at his screen and the alarming number of emails he needs to respond to by the end of the evening. Noticing, she levels him with a ferocious glare. “Yes,” he quickly corrects.

 

“Good,” she says, punctuating it with a hard punch to his arm. Then she spins on her heel to leave—an especially impressive feat considering the four-inch heels she’s wearing. Alec chuckles quietly to himself, watching her toss her long hair as she turns the corner, before returning to his work.

 

* * *

 

 

Three hours later, his headache is fully formed and there’s a tick in the corner of his eye.

 

“I give up,” he says aloud, minimizing the custom Google map he’s created to track the places where the children are being reported missing. Maybe in the morning, with a fresh set of eyes, the rash of disappearances will form a more logical pattern. Until then, he’s going to be useless without some sleep.

 

Alec stands and stretches, raising both arms high over his head then leaning backwards. Several vertebrae crack in a sequence moving from his waist to the tight knot between his shoulder blades. His body is uncomfortably stiff. Being the Head of an Institute brings more responsibility than he ever could’ve imagined: everything from reviewing reports to coordinating deliveries of rations; from overseeing patrol assignments to authorizing expenditures. With so much riding on him, he doesn’t have as much time to train as he used to. Every morning he does his best to fit in an hour at the archery range or boxing ring, but it’s not the same as logging hours in the field day in and day out.

 

In some ways he can tell he’s going soft, leading the Institute. He’s dropped weight, for one. It’s also getting harder to go as long without sleep as he used to. Paperwork and Clave relations aren’t as stimulating as adrenaline and the thrill of a good chase. No wonder it used to be mandated that married couples take on leadership roles together. In another life maybe he’d be running the Institute with a partner by his side—someone who could share the burden of responsibility with him, occasionally take some of the pressure off him.

 

There’d been a time when he’d thought he’d be able to marry a woman in order to remain on the leadership track. At nineteen, he’d thought he was capable of living a lie for the rest of his life if it meant getting the command he’d been working for since he’d first been runed. Then, at twenty, he’d met—

 

At twenty, the thought of being married to someone he felt nothing for had launched him into a vicious panic attack.

 

After many long years climbing the ranks, and several decorated battle victories, he’d gotten a command anyway. Somewhere in the process he’d found himself living a different kind of lie entirely. Rumor among the younger Shadowhunters has it that Alec has taken a vow of celibacy. They always talk about his _focus_ in hushed, admiring tones— his devastating accuracy with a bow— before going back to their boyfriends and girlfriends. It’s depressing how true the theory is, however wrong they may be about his choice in the matter of said celibacy.

 

Maybe if he’d said yes, just once, to—

 

Alec shakes his head, firmly cutting off that line of thought. He must be tired if he’s this easily distracted. By almost every marker for his age he’s wildly successful. Few Shadowhunters have accomplished what he has at such a young age, and he’s the only one who’s done it single. He’s happy. Mostly. He has Izzy and Jace, and Clary, he supposes. What he needs is some rest and maybe a day—one single day—without a Downworlder incident, and he’ll forget he ever thought any of this.

 

There’s a knock on the door. His shoulders physically sag at the sound, exhaustion becoming achingly more pronounced.

 

“Yes?” he calls, hearing exactly how tired he feels in his voice. Hopefully this is the kind of incident that will only keep him away from his bed for an hour. The prospect of the alternative makes him want to curl up under his desk and hide from the world.

 

The door swings open. One of his secondaries, Ramone, is standing on the other side, her mouth pinched. He knows immediately that whatever she needs is going to take longer than an hour. “Lightwood,” she says. “There’s something we need you to see.”

 

“Lead the way,” Alec says, resigned to his fate.

 

* * *

 

 

The girl is four or five years old with wide brown eyes and two furry gray cat's ears. She’s terrified, rendered speechless with fright. There are matching burns on both her wrists, like someone, something, had tried to drag her away. Isabelle is crouched in front of the girl, still in her club dress, murmuring to her in a low voice while she strokes the young warlock’s hair.

 

Everyone else is standing around fucking _watching._ Alec feels a wave of anger so strong that his hands reflexively clench into fists. He wants to hit something. “Why hasn’t anyone healed her?” he demands. “Called her parents?”

 

One brave recruit steps forward to answer. “These wounds are magic, sir,” he tells Alec. “We need a warlock.”

 

“So get a warlock,” Alec grits out.

 

“W-we tried sir. We’ve been fire-messaging Warlock Bane. He’s not—”

 

“I’ll get him myself,” Alec says, interrupting. He’s already reaching into his jacket for his stele as he crosses the room to find the special symbol Magnus had created for Alec’s use only, linking the Institute to Magnus’s apartment.

 

The urgency of the moment makes it easy to ignore the twist in his gut, the anticipation that never seems to go away. _Magnus._ It feels like Alec sees him every few weeks, whether it’s for a meeting of the Council on the Accords, or some magical crisis. They have a decent working relationship these days. Magnus still tells Alec when he thinks Alec is being an idiot, and Alec feels comfortable going to Magnus for advice when he’s feeling overwhelmed. Magnus still flirts with him sometimes, but it’s not over the top anymore. It’s the same way he flirts with everyone else. It’s fine. There’s no reason to miss the way he used to make Alec feel all those years ago—confused but wanted; hunted but excited every time Magnus was near.

 

Taking the private portal from his office to Magnus’s floor means that in less than five minutes he’s rapping hard on Magnus’s door, hamming out his frustration with his fists. Thirty seconds pass with no sign of the Warlock.

 

“Magnus,” Alec yells, knuckles smarting.

 

Nothing. He starts thinking ahead: if he doesn’t find Magnus here, Alec will run the mile to Pandemonium and look for him there.

 

“ _Magnus_ ,” Alec repeats louder, keeping up the steady stream of knocking.

 

This time he hears steps, then an exaggerated sigh. When Magnus finally pulls the door open, he’s wearing velvet pants that fall low on his hips and nothing else.

 

With years of practice, Alec is able to keep his gaze from dropping and trailing over the golden planes of Magnus’s chest. There’s glitter dusted across Magnus’s skin. Every time the light hits, the glints only further emphasize the deep cuts of his muscles. Harder to look away from are the smattering of love marks, four or five of them, spread from the underside of Magnus’s jaw to the jut of his hipbone. Seeing those marks hurts worse than any demon wound Alec’s ever had, worse than any strain he’s ever put on his parabatai bond.

 

“If it isn’t my favorite Shadowhunter,” Magnus says, leaning against the doorframe and studying Alec with one hand on his hip, eyes half-lidded. “It’s a little presumptuous of you, appearing at my door so late, don’t you think? You’ll have to beg if you want me to ask my guests to leave. We’ve just gotten _comfortable_.” He says the final word with a little wave of his hand that unnecessarily clarifies for Alec what he means by ‘comfortable’.

 

“You’re needed at the Institute,” Alec says, voice brusque. His chest clenches but he’s sure none of what he’s feeling is showing on his face. If there’s anything he has a lot of practice at, besides his bow, it’s hiding how he feels about Magnus.

 

“I’m busy,” Magnus tells him, flashing Alec a smile that has none of the luster of his real ones.

 

As if on cue, there’s a series of giggles from the living room, one deep and masculine and the other softer, more feminine.

 

Part of Alec—the dark side of him, raised to be a hunter; the part already on edge from the discovery of the injured child—wants to murder whoever is back there. He wants to let arrow after arrow fly until the apartment is plunged into silence. It’s irrational and he knows that. He doesn’t get to be jealous if he’s the one who turned Magnus away.

 

For a year-and-a-half, Magnus had pursued Alec, trying every increasingly ridiculous thing he could think of: letters, cologne, flowers, chocolate and more. Over and over again, Alec had told him no, had asked him to let it drop. All along, he’d thought he was doing what was best for him, his family, and his career. Late nights like tonight, when he’s feeling especially tired and lonely—those when he’s not called away to save the Shadow World, but instead is able to find his bed—it’s thoughts of Magnus that keep him awake well into the early morning hours. Back then he’d been so sure he was making the right choice.

 

But what would’ve happened if he’d ever said yes? The question will never, _ever_ let him have peace. He’s so jealous of the people in that back room he can feel bile burning at the back of his throat.

 

In a moment of all too revealing weakness, Alec lets his eyes fall closed. His anger drains away from him quickly, leaving him swaying on his feet as the exhaustion he’s been keeping at bay all night catches up to him.

 

“It’s a child,” he says, lashes fluttering open again with great effort. “A warlock child.” He looks down into Magnus’s gorgeous face and remembers the burns on her arms; how she’d been petrified with fear. She’s what’s important here, not his five-years-ongoing doomed love story. “Magnus, please. She—she needs you.”

 

The expression on Magnus’s face undergoes a complicated sequence before it reluctantly decides itself. “I need to change,” he says. “And ask my guests to leave.”

 

“I’ll wait out here,” Alec tells him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Magnus takes three steps out of the portal and goes right to his knees in front of the child, holding out both his hands but not immediately touching her. “My sweet girl,” Magnus says, voice gone soft. “Who did this to you, little kitten?”

 

She still looks terrified, hunching in on herself.

 

“You’re safe with me,” Magnus says, coaxing. He flashes his cats’ eyes at her. “We’re alike, you and I.”

 

Slowly, she reaches out to take his hands. Magnus accepts them carefully, holding her palms like she’s precious, making his touch an offering.

 

Alec’s lungs constrict so tightly that he suddenly finds himself seeing stars, fighting to draw breath. Back when he still thought he’d get married one day, the only part of it he’d been excited about was the prospect of being able to have children. His whole life, he’s dreamed of having kids. They’re his weak spot, the thing that gets him most when he’s on the job.

 

Magnus’s magic flares, blue and brilliant, starting at the point where their hands are joined and spreading up her arms, washing over her from head to toe. In its wake, it leaves smooth, unmarked skin, erasing the burns. The girl holds her head higher when it’s through. The tear tracks that had stained her cheeks disappear. For longer than Alec’s heart can take, Magnus stays with her, murmuring to her in comfort. Seeing Magnus with her is an overwhelming combination of two of the things Alec wants most in the entire world.

 

After a while, Magnus abruptly stands, nodding for Isabelle to return so he can cross the room to Alec.

 

“How is she?” Alec asks. His voice comes out sounding like it’s been put through a grater.

 

“She’ll be okay,” Magnus says, eyes promising fire and rain and _death._

 

“Who did this to her?”

 

Magnus shakes his head, strands of red-tinted hair flopping across his forehead. “I don’t know.”

 

“How can you not know?” Alec demands. “Who—whatever hurt her has been taking kids all over the city. If she got away from it, this is our only—”

 

“Alexander,” Magnus cuts him off, taking hold of Alec’s bicep. The touch shocks Alec quiet.

 

“She doesn’t remember anything,” Magnus says, grasping tightly to Alec’s arm, willing him to stay calm. “Someone has taken her memories.”

 

* * *

 

 

The plan forms quickly, with neither Alec’s input, nor his approval, and all of Magnus and Isabelle’s mutual stubbornness.

 

“We’re not doing that,” Alec says, feet planted and arms crossed over his chest.

 

“It’s our only option,” Magnus tells him.

 

“She’s a child!” Alec says. “We’re not subjecting her to that.”

 

“I’ll be acting on her behalf,” Magnus says. “She won’t be in the pentagram.”

 

“We can’t summon a _demon_ to the Institute,” Alec argues.

 

“We’ll move to my apartment,” Magnus says. Although Alec’s voice has risen steadily in the exchange, Magnus has stayed calm, patiently responding to each one of Alec’s arguments.

 

Isabelle joins them, one hand on either side of the girl’s shoulders. “I told you he wasn’t going to like it,” she tells Magnus, shooting him a conspiratorial smile.

 

“I didn’t disagree,” Magnus says, sounding briefly amused. He holds Alec’s gaze and drops his voice, speaking as softly as he’d been to the girl. “We’ll call her parents as soon as we get to my place. They’re going to want to hunt this thing as much as you do. This is our best chance, you have to know that.”

 

It’s a lot harder to say no to things when Magnus is standing so close, breath fanning Alec’s jaw. Magnus has his head tipped back to look at him, and it’s giving Alec the same funny feeling he always gets when he thinks about how much taller he is than Magnus. All Alec can think about for one blinding second is stepping forward and pulling Magnus into the circle of his arms. Still, Alec presses on. “Last time we called the memory demon--”

 

Magnus theatrically rolls his eyes. “When we called Valak, you were a miserable teenager, in love with your brother. You had something to hide. It isn’t going to be like that this time.”

 

When Magnus had changed, he’d pulled on tight pants and an ornate emerald green jacket, open to his sternum to show off the necklaces he has layered on. His makeup is perfect now, smudges of kohl transformed into dark black lines. He looks every bit the High Warlock again, no longer like some late night fantasy created solely to torment Alec. The look is equally as stunning, but in a distinctly different way, meant to flaunt power and sophistication, not to seduce.

 

 _Something to hide._ For the second time in a very short period, Alec finds himself closing his eyes, steeling himself to handle what’s happening around him. What’s he supposed to say to that? He’s been hiding something from Magnus for as long as they’ve known each other. Besides, Magnus is right. It’s the best way, the _only_ way that they know of to stop these disappearances. As Head of the Institute, Alec needs to be there. There’s no excuse for him not to step into the pentagram to complete the ritual, even if it means damning himself in the process.

 

Alec forces a brittle smile. “Sure,” he says.

 

Isabelle raises an eyebrow at him, waiting for something else from him. Something she doesn’t get. “Let’s go then,” she says eventually.

 

“Let’s,” Magnus agrees. As he steps past Alec, Alec feels the fleeting touch of a hand to the small of his back.

 

* * *

 

From the moment they step inside, Magnus’s apartment bursts with activity. After a brief firecall with Magnus, the girl’s parents portal inside. They’re both crying with relief, holding their daughter in an intimate circle. Magnus moves around his apartment with practice, collecting his chalks, his spell book, and, least surprisingly of all, a goblet of deep red wine.

 

“It’s a shame I can’t call Clary to do this,” Magnus tells Alec, raising the chalks. “Then I could put my feet up and enjoy this.” He swirls the wine with a wistful expression.

 

Alec makes a face. “Please don’t,” he says. “I think Jace would punch me.”

 

Despite being eight months pregnant, Clary refuses to leave the field or do anything sensible that might keep her out of harm’s way. If they brought her here, she’d insist on joining the bond for the summoning, and when they said no, she’d bulldoze over them until she got her way.

 

“I guess it’s my turn to show off my art,” Magnus says, feigning a sigh. “If only for the sake of those pretty cheekbones of yours.”

 

It’s stupid how flustered Alec feels from the praise. He watches as Magnus takes a long swig of from his glass before stepping away and making his way to the same chamber where they’d performed this ceremony all those years ago. Magnus’s hips roll with every step he takes. Once he’s inside the annex, Magus puts down the glass and carefully selects the piece of chalk he plans to use. Like always, there’s an unmistakable shift from when Magnus stops being playful, stops putting on a show, and gets solely to business, effortlessly radiating power.

 

“You okay big bro?” Isabelle asks.

 

Alec doesn’t jump, but it’s a close thing. He stops looking at Magnus. “I’m fine,” he says.

 

“This _will_ go better than last time,” she tells him, voice steady, full of assurance.

 

“Okay,” he says. He’s not looking at her, either.

 

Her tone turns wicked. “I’ll hold you back from breaking the chain myself, if I have to. Even if you’re in love with Raj. No, with _Simon_.” She pretends to gasp. “With a Silent Brother!”

 

“Very funny Izzy,” Alec says. Another reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

 

Maybe the demon will take a memory of Isabelle. It’s possible. He loves his sister with his whole heart, loves her unquestionably, would die for her without a single moment of hesitation. In all of his lowest, darkest moments, Isabelle has been there for him. If the demon takes a memory of Isabelle, maybe this endlessly terrible night would turn out all right after all. Nothing would be ruined then. They would finally have a lead on this case, and he’d be able to go with his life without anything changing; without anyone finding out the secret he’s fought so hard to keep to himself.

 

The demon _has_ to take a memory of Izzy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The ceremony he ruined five years ago—the one that ended with a demon dead and Clary’s memories lost forever—still stands out vividly in his mind. There are two things about that day that will never leave him: first, how terrified he’d been that he’d destroyed the best thing he had; that Jace was going to think he was disgusting for the feelings he had. Equally pronounced, he remembers the little thrill he’d felt, however guiltily, noticing that the most gorgeous man he’d ever met was openly flirting with him.

 

Every step of preparation is the same as he remembers. Taking the lead, Magnus gestures for them to move to their places around the pentagram. The girl’s parents stand side by side, each on a point. Isabelle takes the spot beside the girl’s mother. By default, Alec winds up standing next to Magnus. His heart is pounding triple-speed.

 

“Join hands,” Magnus says, voice taking on an otherworldly quality that makes heat pool in Alec’s gut. “We’ll form the bond necessary to contain the greater demon. Do _not_ break the bond, no matter what happens.” He levels Alec with a firm stare, although there’s a teasing glint in his eye that softens the warning.

 

To begin the ritual, Magnus holds out his right hand to Alec. His nails are painted a bright yellow, like the patch of daffodils that still blooms in a long abandoned garden bed behind the Institute. Alec stares at his hands, at his tan, soft skin and his long fingers, without moving.

 

“Alexander,” Magnus says. “If you will.”

 

Exhaling hard, Alec raises his left arm. He watches, feeling detached, as if he’s looking on from afar, as his hand slides palm to palm with Magnus’s, and his fingers curve around to brush against Magnus’s wrist.

 

The jolt of their connection forming startles him as much as it had the first time. A bolt of electricity travels up his spine. Whispers fill his head: demons begging, pleading, bargaining to be set free. For a moment, his eyes are locked on Magnus’s and he can see how dilated Magnus’s pupils are, can tell that Magnus is affected by it too. His breath catches and he opens and closes his mouth, feeling the urge to say something. What, he doesn’t know.

 

There’s a shock when he takes Isabelle’s hand too, but it’s not the same. It doesn’t feel like their hearts are irrevocably linked. He doesn’t feel like Izzy can see into his _soul._

When the circle is complete, Magnus widens his stance, then closes his eyes. “Aka Manah,” Magnus says, calling the demon. Seamlessly he changes languages, chanting several lines in Latin.

 

Alec makes himself stare at the center of the Pentagram. The more he looks at Magnus, who’s in his element, with the universe at his fingertips, the harder it becomes to breathe.

 

It’s not going to be Isabelle in that memory, he begrudgingly admits to himself. If he’s ever been certain of anything in his life, it’s that the way he feels for Magnus is without compare. He’s longed for Magnus every day for five long, miserable years. Even after Magnus gave up on Alec, Alec never stopped wanting him.

 

A fierce wind comes screaming to life in the room. The floor shakes beneath their feet. They all look skyward in unison as a black cloud descends from the ceiling and then coalesces in front of them, an angry, churning mass. Magnus yells something unrecognizable at the demon as it materializes.

 

“In exchange for the information we seek, Aka Manah will take payment from each of us,” Magnus shouts.

 

Isabelle is already rising onto her toes, a magical force raising her up, pulling something from deep inside her. A scene of Alec is projected on the cloud. They’re battling back to back, grinning hugely, having fun taking down wave after wave of Shax demons.

 

Magnus’s shouting is hard to hear over the howling wind. “He demands a treasured memory of the person you love most.”

 

The magic hits Alec next, tugging at him, demanding what’s rightfully its. The memory plays for him as it’s torn from his head—

 

_He’s in a ballroom, wearing his most formal suit, dressed in a white blazer. People are gathered everywhere around him, Warlock, Vampire, Seelie, Werewolf and Shadowhunters alike, all celebrating together, cheering the signing of a new Accords, one that gives all beings an equal place at the table. Looking around the room, Alec doesn’t recognize anyone but he feels happy. He’s proud of himself for the role he’d played in the negotiations._

 

_Someone places a light hand on his elbow and he turns to see Magnus, smoothly balancing two flutes of champagne in his free hand. “You looked like you could use a drink,” Magnus says. “Congratulations, Alexander. You’ve demonstrated your leadership again and again these past few months.”_

_For once in four years, Alec doesn’t bother controlling his face around the warlock. He smiles at Magnus with every bit of the bubbly happiness he feels. “Thank you,” he says, accepting the glass, then holding it out so Magnus can tip both flutes together with a clink._ “ _You too,” he adds, taking a sip._

_The smile on Magnus’s face feels like a prize all of its own._

Isabelle gasps loudly. The grip Magnus has on Alec’s hand goes painfully tight, threatening to cut off Alec’s circulation. As it’s torn from him, Alec is thrown back to the present, to the rolling clouds of _evil_ in front of him. There’s a gaping emptiness in the wake of the memory. As hard as he tries, he can’t recall the scene he’d been so lost in. It’s just gone, irretrievably erased. He only knows it was about Magnus because he catches a fleeting glimpse of the warlock in the fading image in the smoke, looking handsome in a fitted suit.

 

Suddenly frantic, worried about what he might have lost, Alec scrolls through the memories he does have of the years they’ve known each other:

 

_An arrow flying. Magnus turning and crossing the room, a hand outstretched and a particular kind of smile on his face. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”_

_Magnus’s silhouette against a dark window, martini in hand. “You’ve unlocked something in me.”_

_A late lunch. Empanadas from a food cart on a busy NY thoroughfare and the sun on their faces. “These are good,” Magnus had admitted. “Nothing like the empanadas in Santiago, however. Let me tell you, there was this woman who cooked them right out of her house...”_

_Pouring rain. One of Magnus’s hands on his face. “I don’t want to have to give up on you.”_

For different reasons, good and bad, those are some of his most cherished memories of Magnus, all there, all accounted for. His relief makes his knees buckle. Some of the tightness in his chest dissipates. It’s over. The demon has its memory from him, and this time Alec stayed on mission, did his duty to the people under his jurisdiction. For the moment he can be content that he didn’t let anyone down. He blinks away the hints of moisture at the corner of his eyes, fighting off the strange sense of loss that lingers. An image is fading in front of Magnus already— it shows Magnus, a blue skinned, white haired woman, and the late Warlock Ragnor Fell, standing beside what looks like some of kind of ancient temple.

 

Magnus’s eyes are closed as he watches the memory one final time before he’s doomed to lose it. It gives Alec a few seconds to prepare himself for what’s to come. Everything is different now. Magnus _knows._

 

The demon turns to the girl’s father, who flicks his snake’s tongue before the magic takes him. Alec’s hand is increasingly going numb from the rigid grasp Magnus has on him, presumably to keep him from running away.

 

The spell is old and volatile. It takes most of Magnus’s energy to contain the bond and hold back Aka Manah. There’s an end goal here, and Magnus is the one who has to see it through to a successful conclusion. Despite all that, despite the furrow in Magnus’s brow that shows the strain he’s under, Magus still finds an opportunity, with his usual flare for the dramatic, to level Alec with a _look._ He doesn’t need to speak out loud to say, “ _You’re not getting away from talking to me about this”._ His eyes say it loud and clear.

 

* * *

 

 

The smoke has cleared and the room is silent once more, when Magnus finally drops Alec’s hand, breaking both their bond and the larger chain. There’s a fury in Magnus’s eyes that Alec’s never seen before. Not even Valentine had garnered this level of sheer anger.

 

“It’s a djinn,” Magnus says, voice vibrating the way two swords do when brought together violently.

 

“A djinn?” Alec repeats, startled. In all his years on the job, he’s never seen a djinn. He’s heard rumors of them, of men holding them captive, seeking to have their wishes granted, but he’s never seen any evidence that they’re real.

 

“That’s why the children aren’t being found,” Magnus says, jaw tight “They’re technically in another world, one just beyond the boundaries of ours.”

 

“What would a djinn want with a bunch of children?” Isabelle asks. Her fingers are already twitching in anticipation of unleashing her whip.

 

Magnus shrugs, every line of his body a study in tension. “My best guess? She’s draining their life force—gathering enough power to enter our world permanently.”

 

“That ends tonight,” Isabelle says, with terrifying coldness.

 

“How do we find it?” Alec demands.

 

When Magnus locks eyes with him, it creates an echo of the sensation of the bond forming for the summoning, erasing the absence Alec’s been feeling since Magnus dropped his hand. “Lucky for you,” Magnus says, mouth twisted. “I recognized her. I can portal us right to her.”

 

“Good,” Alec says, grimly. He turns to his sister. “I need my bow. You need anything beside your whip?”

 

“I’m good with this,” she says, flashing the coil of silver around her wrist.

 

“We’ll meet back here in ten minutes,” Alec tells Magnus. “They,” he points at the warlock family. “Don’t come. They’re too...” He pauses, feeling his lips curl. “Emotional.”

 

The face Magnus makes at the couple is presumably meant to be an apology but winds up looking slightly mad. “Go on and do what the Shadowhunter orders.” he says. His voice drops. “Enjoy the time with your family.”

 

The mother nods. She looks exhausted, unable to stop glancing down to check that her daughter is still clinging to her leg. She raises a scaled hand, opening a shimmering portal. “Thank you,” she tells Alec and Isabelle. “My heart would have broken if anything had happened to her.” Then she motions for her husband and daughter to step forward. In seconds, the family disappears through and the circle of white gold closes.

 

“Can you—” Alec begins, turning to Magnus. He means to get Magnus to open a portal to the Institute.

 

“How long?” Magnus demands, cutting him off.

 

The frustration in his voice is answer enough how Magnus feels about the revelation in the pentagram. Why would Alec ever have thought Magnus might be happy about it? Alec has lied to him for _years,_ has driven him away at every possible opportunity, chose the Clave and the Institute, everything Magnus hated, over him. Magnus didn’t give up on Alec quickly, but he did, eventually, give up. The scene Alec walked into in Magnus’s apartment earlier had been proof enough how completely Magnus has gotten over him. And it wasn’t the first time Alec had come to get Magnus in the middle of the night and found him in bed with someone, either.

 

“Is this the time?” Alec snaps, chest tight. “We need to go after this monster.”

 

“It’s one question,” Magnus says, unyielding. “How long have you had feelings for me, Alexander?”

 

Alec stares him down long enough to realize that Magnus won’t back away. He exhales, shifts on his feet, and then reluctantly gives in. His shoulders hunch. “A long time,” he finally admits.

 

“How _long?”_ Magnus repeats.

 

His hair is sticking up in a million directions, messier than usual, blown about by the force of the wind in the chamber. The kohl around his eyes is smudged, just like it had been when Alec first came to his doorstep tonight. _By the Angel_ , that feels like days ago now. His lips are plump, bitten red, maybe from his reaction to his final look at the memory of him. He’s so beautiful that it makes Alec dizzy sometimes to look at him.

 

“For as long as we’ve known each other,” Alec says, looking anywhere but at Magnus. “Open the damn portal, Magnus,” he barks, when Magnus only stands there staring at him, mouth parted.

 

Magnus obeys, and a second shimmering golden field appears. Alec doesn't chance a second look at him. Instead, he takes several long strides forward and keeps going, walking until he emerges into the familiar weapons room at the Institute.

 

“Oh my God,” Isabelle says, emerging directly behind him. “Oh my God. _Alec.”_ She punches him hard on the arm. _Again_. It stings enough that he lifts a hand to rub the spot.

 

“Now isn’t the time Isabelle,” Alec tells her.

 

She ignores him completely. “I can’t believe you would hide something like this from me!” she complains. “I mean, I suspected it at first, but you turned him down so many times! Who would’ve guessed? Alec, you’re in love with _Magnus_?”

 

It’s pretty clear that she plans to go on a while, so Alec goes ahead and opens the cabinet where he stores his weapons, quickly finding his bow and lifting it into the air for inspection.

 

The look of fascination on her face is unnerving. Alec doesn’t feel like being dissected when there’s something else they need to kill. “Let’s go,” he says, shouldering his quiver. He moves fast to slam the door closed and twist on his heel.

 

The portal is still open, waiting for them. He retraces his steps to get there, stepping forward so he’s plunged into a shimmering magical sea.

 

“You can’t let yourself be happy for one moment can—”

 

Isabelle’s voice is drowned out by the rush of the portal, a loud humming sound that fills his ears. Simon has compared it to a mundane airplane. There’s a twinge in Alec’s chest, like always, entering Magnus’s apartment. It’s more jarring coming out on this side, opposite in every possible way, the bright colors and eccentric decorations standing out in contrast to the Spartan Institute. Something about it has always felt disconcertingly like home to him.

 

At first he doesn’t see Magnus. In his dark coat, back to the living room, Magnus blends in with the night’s sky outside his floor to ceiling windows. Even from across the room, Alec can see that Magnus is lost in thought, introspective in a way he rarely lets show in front of other people.

 

“We’re ready,” Alec tells him as soon as he hears the click of Isabelle’s heels on the hardwood from the door. He can’t help but feel like he’s interrupting some intimate moment, even if Magnus must have known they were coming back.

 

“Right,” Magnus says, twisting to face him. The expression on his face is inscrutable. “We have a djinn to kill.”

 

* * *

 

The portal takes longer than Alec’s used to. The sensation of the world rushing by outside is more pronounced. Pressure builds against his eardrums and he reaches for Isabelle’s arm, keeping her close. It finally opens to the sky. When they step out, they stand suspended amidst millions of stars, illuminated by their splendor.

 

“Where are we?” Isabelle asks, shivering. The air blanketing them is freezing.

 

Magnus sounds far away when he speaks— older, closer to his true age. “Neither on earth nor in the universe. We stand on the precise line where they meet.”

 

“Right,” Alec says. He fights off a shiver of a different kind. “Where’s the djinn?”

 

“I will open the door to her realm,” Magnus answers. He raises an arm, palm spread wide, squaring his stance. “You both need to be prepared. This won’t be easy.”

 

“We are,” Isabelle says, whip in hand.

 

Alec runs a finger over the fletching of his arrow, making sure it’s notched to go. “Do it, Magnus,” he says.

 

Sparks pour from Magnus’s fingertips, forming a vertical line that shimmers, then cracks. Like a sheet of paper being torn in half, the sky peels away on either side of the line, opening to something Alec can only call a cavern, even if he knows it’s not the right word. The high-ceilinged space is lavishly decorated. Persian rugs layer the floor. A massive canopied bed is piled with furs, practically inviting the viewer come escape the frigid air. Glimmering chandeliers hang from long chains. The scene would look beautiful, captured in a painting. In person, the smell destroys the illusion.

 

Rot is heavy in the air, choking them, reeking of death. The smell is so overpowering that it’s hard to think about anything else. Standing elbow-to-elbow with Alec, Magnus gags. Alec pushes his nausea down, forcing himself to scan the room and search for any potential threats.

 

What he sees turns his stomach: A tiny shoe, lying discarded at the foot of a chaise lounge. A stuffed panda, half covered by a tapestry. A pink bow turned brown with stained blood. He hadn’t expected to bring any kids home, not realistically, but the small part of him that had been praying he’d been wrong shatters as he surveys the gruesome scene.

 

There isn’t time to grieve. Fury returns to him in a burst, driving him forward, further into the room.

 

“Stay behind me, Alexander,” Magnus warns in a hushed whisper.

 

The warning comes too late. Alec has already caught the flicker of light against a far wall, the evidence of an illusion. An arrow is flying before he consciously decides to shoot. A second follows closely after, string whistling with release. Something screeches in pain, sounding like no animal Alec’s ever heard before, like a bird but also like the leopards at the Central Park Zoo, and the glamor drops.

 

Alec takes in a towering purple form—ten feet of corded muscle leading to pointed horns—before the thing lunges.

 

“Who dares trespass in my home?” she asks, leaping forward and landing on two taloned hands before immediately springing into the air again.

 

Alec only has time to launch one more arrow, catching her in the shoulder, before she’s on him, lashing out. Three of the talons catch him, raking across his side, and he goes flying, crashing into a gilded picture frame and dropping to the floor.

 

“Alec!” Isabelle screams.

 

His vision goes bright with the flare of Magnus’s magic, and then blurs. It takes all of his concentration to stay awake. He forces himself to think about how important it is to get back to Isabelle and Magnus. They need him.

 

There’s a crack of a whip, followed by another unearthly screech.

 

“I’m stronger than you _Laewalls_ ,” Magnus shouts.

 

“I remember,” the djinn says, in a tone that makes Alec’s skin crawl. “And you brought _friends_ this time.”

 

Alec blinks away the dancing spots in his vision and finds a way to stand, pressing his back to the wall and straightening his legs. The first three times, his knees buckle. The fourth time, he gets enough leverage. His vision lurches dangerously when he makes it upright. Something is dripping down his side, pooling at his waistband.

 

A battle is raging across the room. Isabelle, bleeding from a gash along her cheek, keeps snapping her whip, landing blows wherever purple skin is exposed. Magnus is maintaining a steady stream of power, making the djinn thrash dangerously, tossing her horns. The onslaught seems to be working: the djinn looks smaller, gradually curling in on herself.

 

Except the orange stream flickers as Alec staggers his way to them, and Magnus sways on his feet more than once, skin turning pale. There’s a band of sweat beading his forehead. Magnus has used a lot of energy tonight, Alec realizes. Between summoning the demon and portalling them, Magnus can’t have much left to expend.

 

Every step is agony, but Alec eventually makes it to Magnus’s side, trying to angle his body so he’s a half-inch in front of Magnus without getting in the way of the spell. Reaching forward, he takes Magnus’s free hand, the one not unleashing a torrent of magic.

 

“Here,” he rasps, lacing their fingers. “I’m here.”

 

Magnus only looks away from the djinn for an instant. “You’re hurt,” he argues.

 

“Only winded,” Alec lies. It doesn’t matter what happens to him. He needs Magnus to be safe, _Isabelle_ to be safe. “Use me, Magnus,” he insists.

 

With obvious reluctance, Magnus tightens his grip on Alec. There’s the kick Alec remembers from the two times they’ve done this before, making him jerk upright, and then the magic hums to life, flowing from him to Magnus. It visibly strengthens Magnus. The color returns to his cheeks, even as the orange stream doubles in force.

 

With Alec’s help, Magnus and Isabelle make quick work of the djinn. Isabelle manages to wrap a coil around the djinn’s neck, yanks her arm back hard, and it’s done. The djinn falls first to its knees, then drops to the floor, dissolving in a cloud of acrid purple smoke.

 

“Nice Iz,” Alec says weakly.

 

“Yes, very,” Magnus agrees.

 

Satisfied that they’re both safe, Alec closes his eyes for a moment. His vision keeps swimming and this seems easier—blocking out the rocking of the room. His bow clatters to the floor.

 

“Hey,” Magnus says, voice going softer. “You okay?”

 

He’s still holding Alec’s hand. It’s good he is. If he wasn’t, Alec’s not sure he could keep standing.

 

Alec nods jerkily. “Tired,” he admits.

 

He drags his eyes open again, feeling like he’s coming from deep underwater. Now he has Magnus’s full attention, concern written across Magnus’s face. Magnus pulls him closer, bringing them chest to chest, one hand on Alec’s hip.

 

“You’re bleeding,” Magnus says, frowning at Alec. His pupils are big and wide. Something about looking at Alec is making him look terrified.

 

“I’m fine,” Alec tries to say. He’s not sure he manages. Everything feels like it’s falling away, like a dream coming to an end, so he gives into the temptation to clumsily brush two fingers against Magnus’s jaw. Holding his arm up takes too much effort, so when he’s done he lets his arm fall against Magnus’s chest, trapping it between their bodies. His whole body sways into Magnus.

 

“He’s hurt,” Magnus says, not to Alec. “Badly. We need to—“

 

That’s the last Alec hears before he finally loses his grasp on consciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

The room is dark when Alec gradually comes awake, the black of the deepest part of the night—the demon’s hour. The curtains are drawn and there’s not a single shaft of light coming through, as if they’ve been spelled to block all sunlight. Yet, something inside him, his well-tuned internal clock, tells him it’s later in the day than the room makes it seem. His body wants to be up and moving.

 

The bed is very comfortable, sheets cool and silky against his skin, pillows plush with feathers, and mattress firm under his back. It’s luxurious, and it’s tempting to stay here, curled up in this mysterious room. There’s a lingering ache in his side when he shifts, rolling so he’s on his back, limbs spread wide, and the pain makes him want to close his eyes so he can drift back to sleep.

 

Why would his side ache so badly?

 

In a wave, it comes back to him: the djinn’s horrifying home; the swipe of its talons; falling against Magnus as his legs gave out. That part hadn’t been so bad—Magnus’s arms pulling Alec against his surprisingly muscular chest, his gentle eyes on Alec’s face the whole time. The moment had been reminiscent of one of their first meetings, the night they healed Luke, except that night, their positions had been reversed, and it had been Magnus’s cheek pressed to Alec’s chest.

 

If there had been any one single moment when Alec had started to fall in love with Magnus, it might have been that night. Holding Magnus in his arms, even having just witnessed the full extent of Magnus’s power, Alec had felt a wave of protectiveness that shocked him in its fervor. As Magnus regained his strength, Alec would’ve done anything to keep Magnus safe.

 

Later, once he was certain Magnus was okay, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way it’d felt, having a man in his arms, holding Magnus close, breathing in his sweat and the oil on his skin. Until today, that’d been the most intimate he’d been with any man. His heart lurches. He wants so badly to hold Magnus like that when neither of them is drained of energy, on the verge of passing out.

 

These last 24 hours, with all the trials they’ve held, have changed something for him. The part of him he normally keeps buried deep, the little box where he shoves down his feelings for Magnus and tries to lock them up tight, is raw, splintered like someone has taken an axe to it. When Alec pictures going back to his life at the Institute, it’s harder than ever to imagine keeping Magnus at arms length, trying to maintain the professionalism he’s never quite managed anyway.

 

Every breath he takes, every beat of his heart, says _Magnus, Magnus, Magnus, Magnus._

His love for Magnus burns throughout him, a fever he’s never been able to sweat away. It only gets hotter when full awareness of where he must be hits him. He’s not in his bed. He’s not at the infirmary. He must be in Magnus’s bed. Where else would they have taken him? The bedding speaks of Magnus’s tastes, which tend towards high quality and even higher costs.

 

That realization makes Alec take a second stock of the room. Stretching long, he pays attention to the feel of the sheets against his legs, bare from his thighs to his ankles. Ignoring another twinge from his healing wound, he rolls onto his side, breathing deeply against the pillowcase. It has the same rich scent that had made his head swim as he was slipping away at the djinn’s. He keeps picturing having Magnus here with him. There’s plenty of room for both of them on the King-sized bed, but Alec would keep him close. He’d press his mouth to Magnus’s while he let his hands drift, pushing away whatever overelaborate fabric hid Magnus’s strong chest.

 

His cheeks go hot with the direction his mind wanders. For his own sanity, he throws back the duvet covering him and slides across the mattress to plant his feet on the floor. Someone, whether by hand or by magic, had apparently changed him. Alec’s wearing the worn gray t-shirt and loose shorts he sleeps in every night, rather than his preferred boxers, out of the expectation that several nights a week, someone will inevitably be pulling him out of bed to deal with something in the early hours of the morning.

 

The fabric feels familiar against his skin as he makes his way across the room to where he thinks the door is. This would be easier if he had his stele and could activate his night vision. He hopes someone saved his stele.

 

Once he’s close, feeling against the wall for a doorknob, he realizes that he can hear the low cadence of voices from a couple of rooms away. Alec emerges to the blinding light of the sun, halfway risen and streaming through Magnus’s tall windows. He follows the murmur of conversation to Magnus’s kitchen, further enticed by the smell of coffee and of something cooking. Coming around the corner he see Isabelle first, changed into a more muted, but still curve-hugging dress, sitting on a kitchen stool with both legs tucked beneath her. Her back is to Alec.

 

“I’m serious,” Isabelle insists. “Demon slime. In pools. In my brand new Louboutin pumps.”

 

“That is a tragic story if I’ve ever heard one,” Magnus says, out of view, with laughter in his voice. “It’s almost like this time I was in Par--”

 

With two more steps, Magnus becomes visible. He’s standing up but leaning against the counter, both forearms planted on the marble, fingertips curled around a large mug. The way he’s angled, he notices Alec first, faltering mid-sentence.

 

“Alexander,” Magnus says, straightening. The laugh lines fall away, but for some reason Alec doesn’t think the expression on his face is necessarily bad. Hesitant is how he’d describe it.

 

Isabelle spins, lights up at the sight of him, and leaps down, crossing the room. She pulls him into a hug. “Alec, you’re okay!”

 

Once the initial wave of pain has subsided, Alec lifts his arms to hug her tighter. “Good as new,” he says, smiling down at her.

 

Magnus clears his throat. “Are you feeling rested?”

 

From the moment Alec turns his head away from his sister, he knows he isn’t going to be able to look anywhere but at Magnus. This is one of the rare moments when Magnus’s face is bare of any makeup, his hair loose. It makes Magnus look soft, strangely vulnerable.

 

“I am,” Alec says, breath catching. “You didn’t need to give me your bed.”

 

“I wanted to,” Magnus says, with a little dismissive wave.

 

Maybe one day Alec’s cheeks will stop feeling so constantly flushed when he tries to have a conversation with Magnus. “Oh,” he says. “Thanks.”

 

“I’m glad you’re up and moving so soon,” Magnus says. “You gave us quite a scare.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Alec says. He has to be imagining the strange tension in the air, right? It’s just him and his too-big feelings, dragged to the open, making everything more awkward than it needs to be. “I uh… thank you for healing me. You didn’t have to do that either.”

 

“Yes I did,” Magnus says, very seriously.

 

“Is it 10:30 already?” Isabelle announces, very loudly. “I totally forgot I promised Clary I’d--”

 

“While I appreciate whatever story you were just inventing, you may simply leave, Isabelle,” Magnus says.

 

Izzy laughs, unselfconscious. “Right,” she says. She squeezes Alec, narrowly avoiding the worst of his soreness. “Take the day off big bro. Go easy on yourself.”

 

“Maybe,” Alec says, mostly to get a rise out of her. Even he can admit he’s too tired to think of going to work for the day. He gets a knowing grin in return.

 

With the click of the front door closing, her departure leaves a loaded silence in its wake. It takes every bit of bravery Alec has to force himself to look up, through dark lashes, to Magnus. He’s faced a Greater Demon—plus the horror in that djinn’s lair last night— and yet he has to steel himself to meet Magnus’s eye.

 

Magnus is already studying him, face inscrutable. His chin is stubbled, dark hair forming the beginnings of a mustache over his upper lip, and his brow is furrowed with a dozen little wrinkles that Magnus would fuss over, if he were looking in a mirror.

 

“Magnus,” Alec says, a little helplessly. “I—” he trails off, lost for words.

 

For a few seconds, Magnus says nothing, only continues to study him, mouth flat. Eventually though, he does start to speak, talking slowly, considering each word carefully.

 

“I understand why you’ve kept this from me for so long,” Magnus says. “The culture you live in—I understand why you did it, although I don’t agree with it. I wish you hadn’t, but I get it.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Alec says, hating himself a little. He can’t begin to imagine how Magnus must have felt, facing rejection over and over again, putting himself out there time after time, only to be dismissed. That has to sting sharper in retrospect, knowing that all along, Alec had so desperately wanted to say yes.

 

For so long, Magnus had been convinced that Alec returned his feelings. He’d said it: _I know you feel what I feel. You want me too, I can **feel** it. _His certainty of Alec’s regard must’ve been why he’d persisted for so long. If Magnus had been certain that his feelings were reciprocated, it was probably because Alec had been giving off a dozen tiny signals of how much he longed to be with Magnus. And yet, Alec had always pushed him away. Had been an asshole to Magnus, at times, because it was the only way he could keep from giving in.

 

“I know nothing has changed,” Magnus says. “Even so, it’s getting very hard to convince myself I shouldn’t embarrass myself by chasing after you all over again.”

 

Alec swallows, feeling a flutter in his chest, the stirrings of a sweet kind of hope. He starts to raise his arm, but doesn’t quite dare to touch. “I thought you’d moved on,” he says haltingly. “From me.”

 

“Alexander,” Magnus says, looking very much like he wants to roll his eyes at Alec. “I told you a long time ago that I’d gone 50 years without wanting anyone before I met you. You were the first person I ever fell in love with without trying to. That isn’t something that just goes away. There’s always been a part of me waiting, hoping for you to change your mind.”

 

As he finishes, Magnus holds himself differently, looking more reserved, as if he hadn’t meant to admit so much, and doesn’t want to risk doing so again.

 

“Oh,” Alec says. With each passing second, it’s getting harder not to reach for Magnus. He wants Magnus to kiss him. He wants Magnus to keep saying these things to him. Earlier, he’d really liked the feeling of Magnus’s arms around him. “I don’t want you to chase me,” he blurts out, then immediately feels stupid.

 

Magnus goes still, something hurt flashing across his eyes. “I see,” he says.

 

“No,” Alec says, wincing. This is impossible. How does Magnus always sound so smooth? He’s already screwing this up and he’s barely said anything. “I mean.” He breathes out heavily. “Look, Magnus. I’m so tired. I’m _always_ tired. And I—I love you.”

 

The final part of that, he hadn’t meant to add. The words echo in his ears and his throat constricts, leaving him struggling to draw breath, winded and slightly dizzy. For anyone who’d been in the room with that demon, Alec’s feelings aren’t a surprise. He’d been thinking it was unnecessary to put himself through the humiliation of needing to say out loud what Aka Manah had already made so public.

 

While Alec’s heart beats a furious drum against the inside of his ribcage, Magnus actually seems to relax. The tension in his shoulders vanishes, almost like it had been snapped away with a spell. His dark eyes go soft, filling with something close to awe. It gives Alec the same kind of pride he gets when he hits the center of the target on his first shot in practice. How Alec can manage to put that kind of look—so full of amazement—on the face of someone who’s lived hundreds of years, he has no idea.

 

Magnus doesn’t say anything, only keeps looking at Alec like he never wants to look away, but it’s enough to give Alec the final burst of courage he was looking for. With two long strides, he finds himself in arms’ reach of Magnus, laying one hand lightly—hesitantly—on Magnus’s elbow. His eyes fall to Magnus’s. He looks up, checking one more time for that vein of returned interest, and then they drop again, falling to soft pink lips.

 

There’s no doubt anymore. He’s going to kiss Magnus. For five agonizing years, he’s dreamed of it, thought of every little detail of how it might be; how Magnus might taste, how he’d have to crane his neck. He’s imagined this scene thousands of times, to the point of obsessiveness.

 

The actual act of kissing Magnus shatters every fantasy. Alec takes the final step. Leans in, closes the gap between their lips. His hands are shaking, fingers pulling at, twisting Magnus’s silk shirt. The first few seconds feel desperate. His already racing heart kicks up a notch. His strained breaths fray further. A wave of anxiety hits him. All he can think, as he presses his lips to Magnus’s, a little too hard, is how obvious it’s going to be to Magnus that Alec has never kissed anyone before him.

 

Then, Magnus tilts his head just so. Their lips part. The kiss deepens and Alec feels his tension drain away. As Magnus’s arm slides around him, a line of strength and warmth, his thoughts go blissfully quiet. His worries seem insignificant when compared to the wicked curl of Magnus’s tongue. His pulse slows to match Magnus’s. They breathe in time. Kissing Magnus steadies him. It’s peaceful, while at the same time, lights every nerve in his body on fire, and he never thought it was possible, that he could have those two things at once.

 

When he finally pulls away, faintly overcome and so, so happy, he stays close enough that his hair brushes Magnus’s forehead.

 

“I love you,” he makes himself say, with more intent, voice coming out wrecked. _I’m sorry it took so long,_ he thinks, but doesn’t say. Somehow, he thinks Magnus already knows.

 

“And I love you,” Magnus says, soft and earnest.

 

Alec holds him tight. He doesn’t ever plan on letting go.

 

* * *

 

 

The too-bright glow of the monitor is starting to hurt his eyes, the best source of light in his shadowy office. Any lingering glow in the stained glass faded hours ago. In the oppressive silence, he can hear every click of the keyboard over the ragged sound of his own breathing.

 

His increasingly strained attempts to work are interrupted by the _whoosh_ of a portal opening on the other side of his desk. The thrum of magic in the air alone is enough to make him smile, before his visitor even steps through.

 

“Magnus,” Alec says, pleased, before his smile falters. “Is everything—“

 

“I’ve come to fetch you,” Magnus says. “It’s time for you to come ho—back to my place for the evening.”

 

Alec isn’t so tired as to have missed that slip. He feels a flash of warmth. “I can’t,” he says reluctantly. “Queens is a hotbed of activity. I’ve got four patrols out. I need to be here in case--”

 

“No you don’t,” Magnus tells him. He comes around the desk, placing his hands on Alec’s shoulders, kneading the tense muscle there. “I’m quite certain Ramone can handle anything that comes up on your behalf.”

 

“What if she can’t?”

 

“Then she’ll call you,” Magnus says, in his most soothing voice. “Alexander, I’d like to fall asleep with you there.”

 

Alec looks at his gloomy, empty office. He thinks about falling asleep with his arm slung across Magnus’s stomach; how easy it is to slow his brain when he can count time to the rise and fall of Magnus’s chest. Last time, they’d showered together and Magnus’s hands had been… he goes hot remembering.

 

In the end, it’s not a hard decision.

 

“Okay,” he says, leaning backwards so he can see Magnus.

 

“Okay?” Magnus repeats, looking surprised, as if he hadn’t actually expected Alec to go along with it.

 

“Let’s go home,” Alec says, watching the way Magnus’s smile turns brilliant at the words.

**Author's Note:**

> I have two other fics in the works for this fandom, so it looks like I'll be hanging around a little while. Thank you, Matthew Daddario


End file.
